the only children.

"I very well remember the sensation which was caused by the
disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the
papers, and, knowing that he had been a friend of our father's,
we discussed the case freely in his presence. He used to join in
our speculations as to what could have happened. Never for an
instant did we suspect that he had the whole secret hidden in his
own breast,--that of all men he alone knew the fate of Arthur
Morstan.

"We did know, however, that some mystery--some positive danger--
overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out alone, and
he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at
Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who drove you to-night, was one of
them. He was once light-weight champion of England. Our father
would never tell us what it was he feared, but he had a most
marked aversion to men with wooden legs. On one occasion he
actually fired his revolver at a wooden-legged man, who proved to
be a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. We had to pay a
large sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I used to think
this a mere whim of my father's, but events have since led us to
change our opinion.

"Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a
great shock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table
when he opened it, and from that day he sickened to his death.
What was in the letter we could never discover, but I could see
as he held it that it was short and written in a scrawling hand.
He had suffered for years from an enlarged spleen, but he now